You Can’t Take Any of It With You

There’s a quiet truth that we don’t talk about enough:

You can’t take any of it with you. Not the house. Not the car. Not the wardrobe, the watches, or the storage units full of things you haven’t touched in years.

We live like there’s no end, like we’re promised a tomorrow. But we’re not. We only get this one shot.

For a long time, I lived like most people do—accumulating. More gear, more things, more obligations. It felt like progress, like I was building something. But eventually, all that “more” started taking something from me. My peace. My time. My presence.

Bit by bit, I started letting go.

I’ve sold almost everything I once thought I needed. And still, I find myself getting rid of more. Not because I have it all figured out, but because every time I release something, I gain something better—space. Space in my home. Space in my mind. Space in my days.

That space has allowed me to start seeing again. Really seeing. Not just the next to-do or the next payment, but the world around me—the details most people miss because we’re all rushing to somewhere we think we’re supposed to be.

Now at 50, I feel like I’m finally starting to understand what I want. What actually matters. I spent years hustling. Eyes forward. Tunnel vision. I missed a lot.

But now? I walk slower. I notice more. And as a photographer, that change in perspective has changed everything. I see light differently. I see people differently. I see life differently.

There’s a depth in my thinking now that I didn’t have when I was buried in stuff. And I’m so hopeful for what’s ahead—the stories I’ll witness, the moments I’ll capture, the images that will come from this new lens I’ve developed, not just on my camera… but on life.

I often ask the question, What’s it All For? That question keeps me grounded. It helps me stay focused on the kind of life I want to build—not packed with stuff, but full of meaning.

This life isn’t for everyone. But I know with 100% certainty, it’s for me. Living with less has given me more. More clarity. More freedom. More time. And more of me—the version I always wanted to become.

And maybe that’s the only thing we really get to take with us in the end: Who we became while we were here.

Thank you for your time. I appreciate you.